


What's in a family?

by Outsider_Lookin_In



Series: A series of poor judgement calls [1]
Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Angst, Cat Parent Joxaren | The Joxter, Family, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Joxaren | The Joxter, Hurt/Comfort, Joxaren | The Joxter Meets Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:17:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22440619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outsider_Lookin_In/pseuds/Outsider_Lookin_In
Summary: Snufkin takes discovering he has a father about as well as the Joxter takes finding out he has a son.
Relationships: Joxaren | The Joxter & Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Series: A series of poor judgement calls [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700122
Comments: 227
Kudos: 431





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first published fanfiction.  
> Nothing has every inspired me to write fic more than these two useless cat people. I love them.  
> Thank you to my wonderful Beta, without whom I would scatter my commas like rice at a wedding. This fic is for her, because she is the only person more in love with the useless cat people than me.  
> Of course I do not own the Moomins. Tove Jansson does.

As Moomin followed his slightly shellshocked friend out of the living room, Moominpapa reflected that perhaps he had acted with less than appropriate sensitivity on the subject of little Snufkin’s parentage. A quick glance at Moominmama’s exasperated frown confirmed his suspicions.

“I am sorry, my dear,” he said, looking at his memoirs shamefacedly. There was a soft sigh and a warm hand settled on his shoulder.

“I know, Papa. I’m sure Snufkin will recover. He’s had quite the shock, but he’s nothing if not resilient.”

“Perhaps I ought to apologize?”

“I think, in this case, least said might be soonest mended. You know how private Snufkin is, after all. I’m sure Moomin will talk to him about it.”

It was gently implied, of course it could hardly be otherwise when Moominmama was the one implying, but the message was quite clear. He had caused enough damage for today. Moominpapa sighed and nodded.

“Of course you are right, dear. If you need me I will be in my study.”

Moominmama cupped his cheek fondly as he rose from his seat.

“Don’t worry too much,” she said. “If anyone can take a shock it’s the Joxter’s son. I’ll bring you up some tea in a bit.”

Outside on the porch, this was proving to be slightly less than true.

Moomintroll was twisting his tail in an effort to keep his hands to himself as he watched his friend pace the wooden boards.

In the three years he had known Snufkin, he had never seen him so agitated. Not even when the meteor had been threatening to wipe Moominvalley from the map, or when Sniff had eaten a bee last summer and had to be rushed to the Hemulen when he started to turn purple.

_ Click click click _ went the heels on Snufkin’s boots as he walked up and down the porch, his tail lashing behind him.

Moomin had just managed to steel himself to catch Snufkin by the arm when the Mumrik suddenly stopped. His usually relaxed posture looked strange and stiff. His tail hung limply on the ground.

Moomin crept cautiously around his friend and had to slap his paws over his mouth when he saw Snufkin’s face.

His eyes were red. He wasn’t crying, certainly not, but there was a distinct moistness around his eyes that would be hard to explain any other way. There was a bead of blood on his lip where his sharp canine had punctured it.

Then, before Moomins very eyes, he watched Snufkin transform.

It started with his ears, pulling in tightly against his brown curls. Then his face slowly scrunched up, as though trying to exist in the smallest space possible. Moomin watched as Snufkin’s shoulders hunched forwards, his arms coming into his chest. His tail wrapped up and around his legs, squeezing tight.

For this moment in time, Moomin looked at his friend and saw someone small and scared and not at all the Snufkin he knew.

And then, with a big whoosh of breath, that person was gone and Snufkin was there again, standing as tall as his small stature would allow. Turning to Moomin, he smiled and his tongue darted out to lick away the little drop of blood.

“Mumriks don’t really need parents anyway,” he said cheerily. “We’re a solitary breed, after all. I think I might go down to my tent now, I need to catch myself some supper.”

Moomin watched him go, his step steady and determined as usual, but as he turned to hop down the porch steps a beam of late afternoon sun caught his face and glinted off the unshed tears in his eyes.

Upstairs in his office, Moominpapa watched Snufkin trot down to the bridge with a seemingly cheerful skip in his step. It wasn’t until Moominmama came up with his tea, a sorrowful looking Moomin trailing behind her that Moominpapa realized perhaps he had been over-optimistic in that regard.

“Don’t worry, my boy,” he said, clapping Moomin on the shoulder. “I’m sure Snufkin will be his old self again in no time. Why don’t you plan a nice adventure in the meantime to take his mind off things?”

Moomintroll cheered at this and with a quick  _ thank you _ he scurried off to his own room to start planning. Moominmama remained behind.

“You knew the Joxter better than I did, dear. Did he seem to you the type to leave a boy all alone in the world?”

Moominpapa shook his head.

“Not at all. I’ll never forget the day he met the Mymble. Never thought I’d see old Joxter settle down with anyone, but as soon as he saw her it was like we didn’t exist anymore. Nothing did. There she was, surrounded by children, and he just strode up to her, tipped his hat, and climbed into her arms. Not that the Mymble seemed to mind. Last time I saw them, Joxter had about seven children hanging off him and he looked as happy a man as I’ve ever seen, other than myself of course.“

“Then why would he have left Snufkin all alone?” Moominmama asked. “That poor little boy, left in a basket with not so much as a note. It breaks my heart to even think of it.”

Moominpapa frowned in thought.

“It is possible, I suppose…”

“What is?”

“Well, the Mymble always was quite disorganized and a little careless. Not in a bad way, she just has so many children to keep track of and I don’t think she was ever a particularly careful person. I suppose it is possible she simply lost him.”

“And the Joxter? Would he lose a child?” Moominmama asked.

“I don’t think so. He doted on the children.”

The Moomins were silent for a few minutes, each turning their thoughts over slowly and carefully. Though the same thought came to both of them, it was Moominmama who broke the silence.

“Dear, you don’t suppose… Is it possible the Joxter doesn’t actually  _ know _ about Snufkin?”

“I think,” said Moominpapa, sitting at his desk, “It’s high time I wrote a letter to my old friend.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joxter gets pickpocketted, laid, and then a letter.

It was several months later that a road-dusty and wind-swept Joxter strolled in through the door of the Mymble house.

Screams of delight, and also just some screams, met his arrival and small, red-haired children came tumbling out of beds and cupboards, from the garden and the cellar, tumbling down the stairs and over each other, and converged on the smiling man. He allowed the tide to sweep him under and spent a few minutes rolling around the floor before the sea of children parted and he was hoisted up under his armpits by the mighty Mymble.

As always when he was picked up as such, he went limp, his legs dangling a foot off the floor as he smiled lazily at his beautiful Mymble.

“How was your trip, my dear?” she asked.

The Joxter mumbled an answer in return and the Mymble laughed, planting a kiss on his nose before setting him back down on the floor.

He shook himself, smiling up at her as his brain returned to him.

“That’s a cruel trick. You know I can’t concentrate when you hold me like that.”

Going up onto his toes he managed to place a kiss on the bottom of the Mymbles cheek.

“And my trip was wonderful. I brought back presents, but I see they have already been distributed.”

Looking around them the two adults had to laugh. The toys, sweets and other little knickknacks the Joxter had brought back with him had indeed been distributed amongst the children, as had everything else that had been in his bag, coat and pockets. Leaning down he snagged his pipe and tobacco tin from one of the children. The other things could be retrieved at a later date. It was a lucky thing the Joxter had never really wanted a lot of stuff as in the Mymblehouse one quickly learned not to be too precious about ownership.

“Did anything happen while I was away?” Joxter asked as he sat down in the kitchen, the Mymble insisting on cooking something for him now he was home.

“Oh just the usual,” Mymble laughed as she pulled ingredients from the cupboards. “The watertank sprang a leak, we planted some carrots- oh yes, and a letter arrived for you. From Moominvalley.”

“Oh? Must be from Moomintroll. I wonder what trouble he’s gotten himself into this time,” the Joxter said as he discreetly turned the gas off under the slightly smoking frying pan. “Do you remember where you put it?”

“Mm, I left it on the table in the hall, I think. Of course, that was last month, so it may have moved since.”

“Well, I’m sure it will turn up. Thank you dear, I’ll take that now. It looks delicious.”

With a swift hand, Joxter lifted the bacon out of the pan and pulled the singed toast from the grill. In a maneuver that involved at least one ingredient being in the air at all times, he pulled a plate free from the rack and created his sandwich, biting into it with a groan of satisfaction.

He inhaled the sandwich, licking his fingers clean of and residual grease, before looking up. The Mymble was watching him intently, a familiar little smile playing across her lips. All thoughts of food were banished as the Joxter grinned back, making an absolute show of licking his lips clean. Then, with a flick of his tail, he turned and ran from the room. He heard the laughter behind him as the Mymble followed, hot on his heels for all his headstart.

It was a while later, after they had picked the leaves and grass from each others hair and fed the children and put them all to bed, that Joxter remembered the letter. Tearing himself reluctantly away from the Mymble’s side, he padded out into the hall to search for it.

Surprisingly, it was still on the hall table. He recognized Mymble Juniors hand in the neatly sorted mail box, with separate compartments for the Mymble, himself and the children. Flexing a claw, he quickly opened the envelope, flicking out the letter and smiling at his friends neat writing.

His smile faded, however, as he progressed down the page. By the end it was a picture of horror, his eyes barely even registering the final farewell and invitation to come to the valley to visit.

_My Dear Joxter,_

_It has been a long time, hasn’t it old friend?_

_I suppose I should start by telling you that I am no longer the Moomintroll you knew. I am now Moominpapa. You remember Moominmaiden? I suppose I spoke too soon when I mocked you for settling down._

_We have our very own Moomintroll now, and I now finally understand what you meant when you told me that children truly are life’s biggest adventure. It is on this subject, in fact, that I am writing to you today._

_Four years ago there was a terrible event here in the valley. We had just finished building our house when we discovered that the valley was soon to be hit by a terrible meteor. In an effort to protect our home we set off into the Lonely Mountains and it is there that we found a most remarkable little boy._

_His name is Snufkin and he is now almost eighteen years old._

_He helped us a lot during our adventure and he and my little Moomin were completely taken with each other. He travels a lot, but since he met us he has come back to the valley every Spring and stays until the end of Fall. He loves to explore and has had lots of little adventures with the other children in the valley._

_Joxter, my friend, I don’t know how I should tell you this. He is the spitting image of you. Ever since I met him I cannot see anything else. He is different, quieter perhaps, but he has your wanderlust and your love of music. He is definitely at least part Mumrik, but smaller and a little less fluffy. It was obvious to me as soon as I met him that he must be your son._

_I write to you now to tell you this due to an unfortunate event that happened earlier today._

_I was telling the boys a story of our former escapades and mentioned you as Snufkin’s father. The boy was shocked to say the least._

_When we met him, he told us that he did not know where he was from and that he didn’t know who his parents were, but I must say I had other concerns at the time and I did not give this the thought I should have. But I cannot think that you would leave your boy alone in the world. It just doesn’t seem like you. So I felt I had to write to you immediately and ask a strange question._

_Are you aware that you have a son?_

_As I said, he stays in the valley until late Fall. He should be here for a few months yet._

_I hope this letter finds you well and I hope that perhaps you might find time to come and visit us here. I believe Snufkin, though he would never say so, would very much like to meet his father._

_My regards to your remarkable Mymble and the children._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Moominpapa_

The letter fell to the floor, crumpled in half from the Joxter’s deathly grip. He swayed on the spot, his mind reeling.

I have a son.

I have a son who is nearly an adult.

I have a son who spent his life without a father.

My boy.

I abandoned my boy.

The Mymble looked up from her knitting as Joxter reappeared in the doorway, eyes wild and his claws digging into the doorframe.

“Is everything ok, dear?” she asked, folding away her wool. “Is it your friend?”

“Do we have a son?” he blurted out. Mymble smiled.

“Oh yes! Snufkin. Why?”

Joxters knees gave out beneath him and he sat heavily on the floor. The Mymble peered curiously over the back of the sofa.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, struggling to get the words out.

“Did I not tell you? Oh dear, I am sorry. I must have forgotten. It was all such a confusion and you were away for such a long time.”

The Joxter looked into the Mymbles big blue eyes, so trusting and warm and honest, and any anger he may have felt faded. She truly had forgotten to tell him. Likely she had put Snufkin down somewhere and simply forgot to pick him back up again. It wouldn’t be the first time. And if he was correct in his thinking, that would be when he, Joxter, had gone travelling for nearly five years. He had been panicking about settling down and had run away to prove to himself that he was still a free man. And in the process he had abandoned his son.

“I have to go,” he said firmly as he pushed himself to his feet. Mymble smiled and nodded.

“Of course, dear, but you’ve only just got home. Wouldn’t you like to rest a little while?”

“No, I think I’ve left this long enough as it is. I’ll just go pack.”

And with that he turned and left the room. He had only one thought in his mind. To reach Moominvalley before Fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's a bit of a headcanon for me that Joxter is just a super capable dad. He adores Mymble and I believe he would adore her children. I see him tying ponytails and packing lunches and casually putting out fires around the house, just sort of in love with the madness and the noise of it all.  
> I also love Mymble. Yes she is a mess, but she's a lovable mess.  
> Many thanks again to my wonderful Beta, and to everyone who commented on the last chapter. I love hearing your thoughts :)


	3. Chapter 3

The leaves were turning brown in Moominvalley. Sniff complained about the chill in the air and seemed completely ignorant of the looks Moomin was throwing him.

It had been a beautiful summer. The days had been long and warm and full of adventures. They had been to the beach, they had climbed the mountains, and many a sunny afternoon had been spent lying on a picnic blanket making shapes out of the clouds and enjoying Moominmama’s delicious food.

After hearing about the Joxter Snufkin had gone away for a day and Moomin had waited anxiously for his friend until the sun was setting and mama insisted he come inside. But the next day, Snufkin had come to the house to fetch him, saying he had found some interesting trees in the woods and wanted to show them to Moomin.    
  
And that had been it. Snufkin hadn’t mentioned his father and Moomin hadn’t brought it up. He watched his friend carefully for any signs of the hurt he had seen that day, but Snufkin seemed to be himself again. In fact, he seemed even more himself than he had ever been. Whenever he caught Moomin glancing at him he would smile his warmest smile, making Moomin doubt he’d ever seen that face crumpling into itself like a sheet of paper caught in a fire.

But now the winter was fast approaching. Much as he glared at Sniff, Moomin couldn’t deny that the days were getting colder. How he hated the winter. How he hated his stupid troll body and it’s stupid hibernation. How he hated that he would go to sleep fretting about Snufkin, alone in the world with no one to make sure he ate his meals and to listen to his stories and to tell him how very clever and wonderful he was for a whole season.    
  
And he knew that Snufkin needed the space. He could see the longing in his friend’s eyes as they glanced towards the western woods that lead to the pass out of the valley. And sometimes, in the smallest, loneliest places of his heart, he hated that too.

“Something the matter, Moomin?”

Moomin jumped, startled out of his gloomy thoughts as Snufkin sat down beside him. He lost his train of thought momentarily at the look of gentle concern on Snufkin’s face and the outrageous flower crown perched on his hat. It had been a joint effort by Snorkmaiden and Moomin and the riot of colours looked so out of place on Snufkin’s head that Moomin had to laugh.

“I was just thinking, that’s all,” he said, smiling. “You know you don’t have to keep wearing that crown. It was kind of meant as a joke. It must be heavy.”

Snufkin smiled back, crossing his legs and leaning back a little to look up at the sky, his hat wobbling dangerously on his head as he did so.

“Oh I know, but it makes you happy so I don’t mind keeping it on a little longer. So, what’s on your mind?”

Moomin ducked his head, trying to hide his furiously blushing cheeks as he desperately tried to think of an answer that didn’t contain the word winter.

“I was just thinking about the time of year.”

Moomin winced at the petulance in his own voice. He was nearly a fully grown troll after all, not some whiney little child. Glancing up at Snufkin, he was unsurprised to be met with Snufkin’s gentle, sad little smile.

“I’m sorry, Moomin. I really am, but I promise I won’t leave till the leaves are nearly fallen. You’ll be asleep soon and before you know it I’ll be back again. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Moomin shook his head furiously, steeling himself to reach out and take one of Snufkin’s hands.

“No, I’m sorry. I know you have to go. I know you need your travels and time alone, truly I do. I just worry so much when you’re gone. Last Winter I woke up to get a drink and a snack, and the snow was piled up high around the windows, and I couldn’t stop wondering if you’d had a nice warm meal that day, or a good nights sleep. I just worry. I wish there was something more I could do.”

Moomin trailed off, aware that he had hardly proven himself to be anymore of a grown up troll with that particular outburst. Snufkin said nothing, but after a moment he gently disentangled his hands from Moomin’s paws and Moomin felt his heart sink for a moment, before a gentle hand tipped his chin up and he looked into Snufkin’s warm brown eyes, still crinkled softly in a smile.

“You do more than enough already, Moomintroll. You’re the best friend I could wish for. I’m sorry you were worried last Winter, you really needn’t be. Mumriks are very resourceful after all. I do almost always manage a hot meal, unless it’s so warm I don’t even want to cook.”

Reaching up Snufkin gently removed the enormous crown of flowers from his hat and placed it on Moomins head, tucking a stray poppy behind his ear.

“And much as I love my travels, and much as I need them, I find myself looking forward to coming back to Moominvalley and reliving them with you.”

Moomin smiled then, his eyes glistening as he reached up to stroke the petals of the flowers. 

“Well, in that case I suppose I’ll just have to make sure I’m awake good and early come Spring so we have lots of time for stories. In the meantime, I’ll just have to make sure you get plenty of Mama’s cooking while you’re here.”

Snufkin laughed.

“You know I won’t object to that. No one cooks as well as Moominmama, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just soft boys being soft, because even Snufkin cannot resist Moomin the fluffy cinnamon roll.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joxter goes to Moominvalley. Also has thoughts.

Joxter sneezed as he pulled his scarf tighter over his nose against the chill northerly wind. Peering into the distance he could see the twin peaks and the forest between them. It had been many years since he’d visited the valley, now known by locals as the Moominvalley but in his day it had been unnamed and uncharted territory. A perfect place for an adventurer to set up house. Or so Moomin had said as he pitched his tent and eyed the little stream and the green pastures with a proprietary air.

Joxter had looked around at the idyllic meadows, the enclosed valley, the blue sky and tinkling river, and thought he would go mad living there for the rest of his life. Then again, he’d go mad living  _ anywhere _ for the rest of his life. He had been visiting Moomin for that exact reason in fact. After leaving the Oxun Oshun to follow his beautiful Mymble he had moved in with her and the brood for a year, before the itch had started. The little voice in the back of his head that said he was settling down. Getting comfortable. And if he wasn’t careful he’d get stuck.

So he’d packed his bag, kissed his Mymble goodbye, and set off on his travels, keen to revisit his old friends and ready for more adventures.

But everywhere he turned he was disappointed.

Hodgkins had still been sailing, but had no immediate plans to sail further than the fish schools off the coast.

The Muddler was busy nesting with a sweet little thing called Fuzzy and had shown Joxter the door with a haste the Joxter recognized only too well. He had laughed at that. Far be it for him to come between a man and his lady after all.

And then he had fallen in with Moomin who was still travelling, but with purpose now. And he wasn’t alone.

Moominmaiden was a wonderful troll, anyone could see that. She was kind and thoughtful and clever and she let Moomin bluster and boast while she got on with the quiet tasks of life. Joxter had been instantly fond of her. But when they had found the valley, and her eyes had lit up at the flowers and the tranquil beauty of it all, he knew it was time to move on lest he be roped into building their house. 

That had been nineteen years ago. He had wandered a little more before returning home again. In which time Mymble had apparently borne, birthed and lost his only child. 

Tugging on his scarf again, he tried to put it from his mind. He couldn’t be angry at her. He loved his Mymble exactly the way she was. Her beautiful ease in life, her love for her family and her willingness to let them be free when they needed. He had asked her about Snufkin, when he had managed to find some coherence and calm. 

“He was a quiet little thing. So unlike the others,” she had said as she passed him clothes to pack in his bag. “He was walking quickly and he used to take himself off into the woods or the fields. I think he found the house a little too boisterous. And he would find the oddest places to sleep. I found him in cupboards and baskets and, when he was very little, in my shoes. Curled up and fast asleep. I think he liked the closeness of it.”

No, Joxter couldn’t be angry with her. By the sounds of it it was entirely possible his boy had simply wandered off and gotten himself lost. And with twenty three children to mind at the time, Mymble simply hadn’t noticed until it was far too late to mount any kind of search.

So here he was, making the same journey but for the opposite reasons entirely. If life with Mymble had taught him anything it was that family wasn’t a cage. Love didn’t tie you down and if it did then it wasn’t real love. Love was a warm house and telling stories to the upturned faces of the children. It was a meal on the table, or a packed lunch for a ramble. Love was a kiss goodbye and a cheery wave as you departed, safe in the knowledge that there was somewhere to return to, should you need to rest your feet. And it broke Joxter’s heart to think that his boy hadn’t known that comfort. 

“Well, that’s going to change,” he promised as he started on the path to the woods. “I’m going to find my boy and he’ll know he’s loved. Better late than never, I suppose.”

High up in the trees, on the border of the valley, a flake of snow landed on a leaf and held its shape for just a moment before it melted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing summaries. I don't like giving too much away. So would you all mind terribly if I just... didn't?  
> Again, many thanks to my wonderful Beta and to you all for commenting :) I'm so glad people are enjoying the story. I know this one is a little short, I'll make it up I promise.  
> Also, this will become clear but I love Moominmama. The only grown-up in the whole valley.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A winter visitor in Moominhouse.

It wasn’t anything so jarring as a noise that woke Moomin from his restive hibernation. He couldn’t even have said it was a cold breeze or a bad dream. Lying in his bed with his eyes closed, he twitched his sensitive ears and nose, trying to catch anything out of place. Then he felt it, a subtle change in pressure like the house was whispering in his ear, and he knew there was someone downstairs.

His first instinct was to pull the blanket up over his head, his ears and tail quivering in fear at who it might be.

Robbers, bandits, maybe even the Groke herself, come down from the mountains with the aching cold. But then his conscience started to get the better of him.

Winter had only just begun. What if someone had been on their way to the valley and gotten caught in the snow? What if they had been coming for one of Moominmama’s medicines? They might be hurt, cold, scared, and here was Moomin hiding in his bed like some kind of scaredy-troll. Mama raised him better than that!

Gripping the blanket tight over his shoulders and bracing himself for the cold of the floor, he slipped out of his bed. As soon as his paws touched the floor he knew what had woken him up. Instead of winter-chilled boards his feet met the warm wooden grain of the floor. Someone must have lit the fire in the living room. Feeling much better about their unexpected guest now, as he doubted a robber would take the time to light the fire, Moomin padded across the floor and pulled his dressing gown on before slipping through his door and down the stairs.

Padding down the steps gently Moomin strained his ears to pick up any sounds of their guest. As he neared the living room he could hear the faint crackle of burning wood, and the warm air was certainly pleasant, but he couldn’t hear anyone moving about.    
  
Then, as he reached the bottom of the stairs several things happened at once. His eyes caught sight of a pointy hat and a long green coat hung up by the door just as his nose caught the unmistakable whiff of pipe smoke. With a squeak of delight and forgetting any notion of not startling their visitor he burst into the living room with a great beaming smile on his face.

“SNUFKIN! You’re back! Did something happen? Are you o-”

Moomin trailed off as his brain finally managed to catch up with him to present all of the irregularities of the situation. The red hat in the hall, the green coat which was clearly far too big for his Snufkin, and the unfamiliar smell of the pipe tobacco. All of which, together with the wide eyes and raised hackles of the gentleman in front of him, sent Moomins heart plunging down to about his knees before it shooting it straight back up into his throat. He stared at the man opposite him, his brain frantically trying to make sense of the situation.

The man was taller than Snufkin, and hairier. His black hair was messy and flyaway around his face and his beard looked thick and wiry. Moomin could see the fur on the back of the hand clutching his long wooden pipe, and a little peeking out from under his trouser legs.

He  _ did _ bear a certain resemblance to Snufkin. The shape of his face, the pointiness of his nose, the general air of  _ deshabile _ . But this man was much sharper. Whereas Snufkin made Moomin feel safe and warm, this man felt a little dangerous. Not in a bad way per se, but in a bad decision sort of way. Looking up, Moomin met his eyes, piercing blue with pupils narrow and focused, and he gulped.

“I…I’m terribly sorry sir. I mistook you for my friend. Are you well? Do you need help?”

The man cocked his head, looking Moomin up and down carefully before finally relaxing and grinning a broad grin, all trace of the cold stare gone.

“It seems I have at least got the right house,” he said, walking up and putting an arm around Moomin and leading him to the sofa. “After all, there’s no mistaking you for anyone other than Moomintroll’s boy.”

Moomin looked up at the man.

“You mean Papa? Are you a friend of his? Oh!” he said, as it all clicked into place. “You must be the Joxter. Papa’s friend from the Oshun Oxtra.”

Joxter smiled, pushing Moomin down to sit on the sofa as he turned to put a kettle onto the firearm to heat.

“That I am, that I am. And it is a pleasure to meet such a lovely young gentletroll as yourself. You must take after your wonderful mother.”

Moomin giggled, smiling at the joke despite it being at the expense of Papa.

“You know Mama?” he asked, handing Joxter a poker to push the arm with. Joxter took it with a flourish and a bow of thanks.

“I do indeed. I never knew a more beautiful and charming Moomin in all my years. Anyone willing to marry Moomintroll must be of saintly composition, and I don’t think I will ever forget her wonderful cooking. Tell me, does she still make her own jams?”

“She does. Mama makes the very best jam in the whole valley. Oh, are you hungry, Mr. Joxter, sir? We don’t have any bread left, but I’m sure there are crackers in the pantry and we still have some of the blackberry jam left if you would like some?”

Joxter laughed, his tail swishing merrily behind him as he poked the fire a little, keeping an eye on the water.

“No need for the Mister, or the sir for that matter. And I would love some. I’ll admit I had a bit of a poke around the kitchen when I got here, but I didn’t want to accidentally ruin your stores for the Spring so I kept to the fish and potatoes. A change would be very welcome.”

Glad to be of some help, Moomin hopped up from his seat and trotted off to the kitchen. Opening the pantry he could see that Joxter had indeed been very thoughtful. Things that had been opened or partially empty were now completely so, but anything with a seal was left untouched. He’d even rotated the winter apples to keep them from bruising, something Mama lamented she couldn’t do herself every Spring. Quickly putting a tray of crackers, jams and some cheese and ham together, he hurried back to the warmth of the living room.

“Here you are, Mr.- I mean, Joxter, si-, I mean… oh dear.”

Moomin was blushing furiously as he put the tray down and tried to control the stammering. He needn’t have worried. With a speed that belied his previous casualness the Joxter was at the table tearing himself a piece of ham and swallowing it near whole. Moomin stepped back as his guest tore into the food.    
  
Clearly, he had been a bit hungrier than he had let on. Leaving Joxter to his meal, Moomin went to the fire to take down the boiling kettle and started brewing the tea, taking his time to let the leaves steep properly like Mama had taught him. On a hunch he reached up and took down the red jar off the mantelpiece, sprinkling some of the powder into the tea. He smiled as the scent of cloves and lemon filled the air.    
  
Holding the handle carefully with a cloth, he poured out the tea before putting the kettle back in the nook to keep it warm. He turned carefully with the cups, only to find Joxter watching him intently, a warm smile playing on his lips.

“You really do take after your mother, don’t you little troll?” he said fondly as he cleared a space on the table for the cups. “I used to watch her make tea for us in the evenings. She would always take such care over it. I admit I never really understood it. How she could have such patience for something so mundane. I told her as much one night and she laughed. She told me that life is full of the mundane. Cooking, cleaning, sleeping, waking. There’s no getting around that. And that was why people like your father and myself went on adventures. We were running from the mundane. Running from boredom and the daily grind. But if you take the time to enjoy the little things, if you learn to love the mundane, then you can’t help but live a life full of love. She’s a very wise woman, your mother.”

Moomin smiled, his heart swelling with pride as he took a cracker for himself, putting a little jam and cheese on it before taking a bite.

“I’m glad you think so Mr…. Joxter. If I may ask, what brings you to the valley in the middle of Winter? Did you not know we would be hibernating? And how did you make it into the valley through all this snow?”

Joxter chuckled ruefully into his tea.

“Very good questions, little Moomin. I did, in fact, know that your family would be hibernating for the Winter. I had intended to arrive in late Autumn, before you all went to sleep. Unfortunately, it seems the journey was a little farther than I had anticipated and I arrived with the first snow. By the time I had reached your house and realized you were all asleep, and the reason for my journey was no doubt already far behind me, it was too late to turn back. I’ve never seen snow fall so fast, or so thick before. I had a bad feeling about the return journey with all that snow, so I decided to stay here and stick it out.”

Moomins eyes were wide with shock.

“But it must be gone mid-Winter, at least! The snow is up to my bedroom window. Does that mean you’ve been stuck in the house for nearly half a season all by yourself? Eating tinned fish and potatoes!”

Joxter sighed and Moomin could see it now. The tightness around his eyes, the slight twitch of his tail, the scratch of a fingernail on a trouser seam. He remembered one year when Snufkin had caught a terrible cold and they had eventually managed to convince him to stay in the house where he could be looked after. Three days of bedrest and Moomin was convinced he’d come home to find Snufkin halfway up the curtains with cabin fever. He couldn’t imagine what his friend would be like after half a season indoors. And if his father was anything like he was…

“You must really have wanted to see Snufkin to risk the journey to the valley so late in the year,” he said sadly, reaching out to pat Joxter paw with his own. “I’m terribly sorry you missed him, and that you’ve had such a poor reception at Moominhouse. I promise we are usually much better hosts.”

Joxter smiled at him, stretching his arms high above his head to the accompaniment of popping joints and a long yawn.

“Oh, it wasn’t as bad as all that. I must have napped at least half of it away, and I took the liberty of borrowing a few of your father’s books for the long nights. I even managed to get out for the first couple of weeks to collect some firewood. Really, a season isn’t so long to wait.”

But for the lingering strain around Joxter’s eyes, Moomin might even have believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moominmama raised her boy right.   
> Thank you for all of the lovely comments :) As promised, a slightly longer chapter with some actual plot in it, instead of just wall to wall fluff. Sometimes plot has to happen too, I suppose.  
> Also, I am moving house tomorrow and have a major renovation project coming up, so ... yeah. Might miss a day here and there. Please bear with me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moomin and Joxter talk.

With the lengthening of the days came the wet westerly storms which beat against the window panes of Moominhouse. The wind howled overhead and Moomin sat in the living room, wrapped in a blanket and the warm, rich voice of the Joxter.

Papa, as it turned out, had left out a lot of the good bits in his stories and Moomin giggled away to himself as he listened to familiar tales with fresh words.

Joxter, meanwhile, was just grateful to have someone to talk to. He didn’t fuss when the little troll fell asleep for a few hours, or a few days. He remembered Moominpapa’s grumps and tiredness all too well and he knew that even a fully grown troll found it difficult to stay awake in the Winter. So he snoozed, and when Moomin woke again they would pick up where they had left off.

Joxter told the little troll tales of his adventures with his father. Moominpapa had apparently left out a few crucial details, such as his dreadful snoring and that awful hat he had insisted on wearing “ _ to differentiate his position as second-in-command from that of the common shipmen _ ”. Joxter had taken to putting bread crumbs and seeds on the crown of it surreptitiously and then watching as Moomin was mobbed by seagulls.

In exchange, Moomin told the Joxter stories of his own adventures. He told him about the meteor and how they had come to meet Snufkin. He couldn’t help but light up as he told the Joxter all about their trips up the mountains to collect flowers for the Hemulen, and down to the beach. How Sniff had built the biggest sandcastle they had ever seen and Snufkin had declared it a symbol of the corrupt bourgeoisie with its shell decorations and unwelcoming moat and had lead them in glorious revolution to take it by storm and open it up to the sea and all its creatures.

Joxter was delighted to hear that his son had inherited his dislike of signs and his complete lack of respect for private property laws. For a boy alone in the world from childhood, he sounded like a very smart lad with good priorities. Joxter also smiled to himself at the evident devotion in Moomin’s voice as he talked about his friend. Joxter had seen that look before and he was happy to see that his son had found someone to love. For all that he himself had fought the idea as a young man, he could hardly imagine his life without the Mymble in it anymore.

As the winter storms abated and the snow washed away, he ventured out of the house with the little troll to find some more firewood and to get a much needed breath of fresh air.

There were still patches of snow here and there, and his breath misted heavily in the air, but Joxter could see a few brave snowdrops peeking their heads through the grass and he knew Spring wouldn’t be far behind.

The first to rise was Moominmama.

She had been surprised to find her living room warm and evidently well lived in, but she greeted Joxter with a warm hug and assured him that yes, he was welcome to crack open some of the sealed tins and jars until she could get something fresh into the kitchen. She hugged Moomin tightly, kissing him and thanking him for being such a gentletroll and keeping their guest company all this time. Then she sent him to bed with the promise she would wake him as soon as the last ice had cleared from the river.

Excited though he was for Snufkins return, Moomin could scarcely keep his eyes open and went back to bed with little fuss. He knew Mama would wake him well before Spring had truly come and Snufkin NEVER arrived before the ice had melted.

With his seemingly endless imprisonment ended, the Joxter was more than happy to get out of the house and take a look around the valley. With a sandwich and a flask of coffee in his satchel he set off to take a look at the beach he had heard so much about and then to take a good long loop back to the house. Moomin had tried his best to keep him entertained over the long Winter weeks, but it had been difficult.    
  
Now, the anticipation of finally meeting Snufkin was growing stronger every day and on top of a Winter’s worth of restlessness, Joxter thought he might actually go insane if he didn’t get outside. Thankfully, Moominmama understood and simply packed him some food to take with him before waving him on his way. With a cheeky grin, Joxter had leaned in and pecked her on the cheek, earning himself a blush and a slap to the arm, before he left.

Now, as he climbed a steep hill to get a better view of the valley he hummed a cheery tune to himself. The day was warmer than before and every day the snowline receded up the mountain a little more. His forebodings had warned him not to attempt that pass with the snow falling so he reckoned he had a few more days yet before the snow was far enough up to make the pass accessible again.    
  
From what he had gathered, Snufkin had returned every year for the last four years so he would surely know to wait till the snow had moved up far enough. With an eye to the distant woods Joxter turned away and started on his long loop of the valley. With any luck he’d catch Snufkin as he arrived.

In their kitchen Moominmama and Moominpapa drank their coffee quietly, their ankles linked together under the kitchen table. Moominpapa was still groggy from his sleep and he smiled lazily across at his wife.

She had told him about the Joxter and how Moomin had stayed up half the Winter to keep his old friend company. Moominpapa had rolled his eyes at that. Trust the Joxter to make things so needlessly difficult for all those involved. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t sent that letter in the early Summer. Joxter had had two whole seasons to reach the valley and still somehow managed to be late.

“I hope Moomin isn’t too dreadfully tired,” he said over his toast. “Joxter can be exhausting enough even when one isn’t supposed to be hibernating.”

“He’ll be fine. I think he rather enjoyed the stories. He’s been asleep for two days now, but I’ll have to wake him soon. I promised I’d wake him before the ice is gone.”

Moominpapa nodded.

“Yes, yes. I’m amazed he managed to get back to sleep at all, even with being awake so long. I remember last year I could hardly pry him away from the window.” 

Moominmama nodded and was about to speak when she twisted her head, her ears twitching.

“Oh dear,” she said.

Up in the hills, somewhere near the edge of the Western Woods, the faint sound of a harmonica floated down into the valley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize for the summary. Also, I have now moved. I hope to go back to daily updates.  
> I hope you all appreciated the absolute bias of both of these storytellers and the wonderful Moominmama, who upon waking to find Joxter sitting in her living room, eating all her winter stores, doesn't even bat an eyelid.   
> Thank you to my Beta reader, and to all you wonderful people for leaving comments for me. I love them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snufkin went for a very long walk this Winter.

Snufkin shifted his pack as he reached the top of his climb, looking down into Moominvalley with a sigh of relief he hadn’t known he was keeping in. Taking a moment to rest, he breathed in the crisp mountain air and watched the midday sun playing on the green pastures below him. Tightening the straps on his pack, he started to pick his way down the path, taking care not to slip on the few remaining patches of ice.

The climb had been tough. Normally, he would have waited another week or so before heading up into the mountains. Moominvalley wasn’t going anywhere after all, and the mountain pass could be treacherous during the melt, with ice water running every which way down the mountain paths, washing away rocks and making them unsafe.

He had arrived early before, and had simply detoured off to a nearby beach on the far side of the pass to while away the time while he waited. But this Spring he hadn’t had the strength to wait.

He had travelled far this Winter. Farther than he could ever remember going before in such a short time. After leaving a tearful Moomin on the bridge behind him mid-Autumn, he had struck out with a speed and determination that surprised even himself. He wasn’t sure where exactly it was he was headed. All he knew was that he needed to stretch his legs. 

So he had walked, with Moominvalley behind him, for exactly half a season. He had crossed a mountain range and several lakes. He had slept under trees he hadn’t seen since his childhood. On and on he walked, until one day he stopped.    
  
Standing at the edge of a valley, looking down at a town he had never seen before, he realised he had reached the boundary of his promise. To walk any further would mean missing the first day of Spring. He stood at the top of the path, leading down into the unknown, and testing his honour found it inflexible. He couldn’t go down into the valley. He wouldn’t leave Moomin waiting by his window, wondering when Snufkin would be home again.    
  
With a nod, he turned from the path, feet already retracing their steps as though pulled by the tide. 

Perhaps it was the familiarity that had sped his return journey. Whatever it was, he had found himself back at the foot of the mountains a week earlier than expected and after only a slight hesitation at the weather he started up the first hill. 

And now, as he picked his way down the hill and into the first trees of the Western Woods he was glad he had. The familiarity of the woods, the air, even the birds accents as they chirped above him, filled him with a sense of welcome he desperately needed. 

On his long walk, he had stopped to talk to no-one. The occasional passerby or fellow traveller had been met with a polite wave and nothing more. Snufkin had been far too preoccupied to entertain.    
  


Moominpapa’s story hadn’t left him. All Summer he had smiled for Moomin. He knew his friend was worried and so Snufkin had done his very best. The only testament to his own troubles was a single tree covered in furious scratch marks from the day after the story.    
  
After that, it had been sandcastles and picnics and allowing Moomin to bury him in fun and affection. He had done well. He lasted till the leaves were brown on the trees and when he had taken Moomin’s paw on the bridge, his tent already packed and ready to go, Moomin had nodded and told him he understood. 

“Will you be back in the Spring?” he had asked, his tail twitching nervously as he tried to hold his smile.

“Of course I will,” Snufkin had answered, squeezing his paws reassuringly. “I’ll be back on the very first day of Spring. You have my word.”

And then he had left. His feet carrying him as far as they could, and all the while his thoughts had circled endlessly in his head. 

Of course, it had been the truth when he told Moomin that Mumriks were resourceful.    
  
Snufkin was, after all, the only Mumrik Snufkin knew and he knew he was more than resourceful enough. He had to be. The Hemulen lady at the orphanage had taken one look at him and told him that no family would want him the way he was, all scruffy and muddy and argumentative. And Snufkin had squared his tiny shoulders and declared that maybe he didn’t want any family that wouldn’t take him exactly as he was.    
  
So, he had set out to learn how to take care of himself. He snuck into the kitchen and learned how to cook. He followed the gardener around asking questions about every plant they had in the gardens. Before he could read he knew how to mend his own clothes and gut a fish. And when the time seemed right, he had packed himself a little bag and stolen away into the night to start his own life, where he might be as muddy as he liked and no one would force him into a bath, or a new, scratchy set of clothes.

Being himself quite fond of silence and his own company, he had simply assumed that his parents were the same. That Mumriks were solitary creatures and once a baby Mumrik was old enough to walk and talk, they were left to fend for themselves. That that was just how it went and that his parents were themselves travelling the world with a knapsack on their backs and only the wind for company.

To find out that his parents were, in fact, quite fond of company and that his father loved telling stories and would flourish in front of a crowd, and that his mother loved children so much she had apparently never stopped having them, had hurt.    
  
For the first week of his travels, all he had been able to think was the the Hemulen lady had been right. No family would want him the way he was. Not even his own it would seem. 

He had twisted his thoughts every which way he could. He had told himself that even if his parents weren’t the solitary type, he, Snufkin, certainly was and he surely would have gone insane in a house full of noisy children.    
  


He had reminded himself of all the beautiful places he had been, all the adventures he had had, and that only his lack of family had given him such freedom.   
  


Every night as he went to sleep he had told himself he should be proud of all he had achieved. Of all that he could do. All he had done.   
  
But time again, the insults of the other children and adults alike would come back to him.

_ Dirty. Strange. Abandoned. Unwanted. Unloved.  _

And so it had gone, for weeks. Snufkin had walked and his thoughts had circled, trapped in a hall of mirrors with every reflection someone else’s impression of him, unflattering to behold. He knew he was reaching the midpoint of the season and that if he kept going he wouldn’t make it back to Moominvalley in time for Spring, but he had kept walking.    
  
And then, as he was reaching the top of the path into a valley he had never seen before, he had turned a corner in his mind and his feet stilled. 

In the mirror of his mind, he saw himself smiling warmly, bending to receive the most enormous flower crown ever created. He saw days spent in quiet contemplation with Moomin by his side. He remembered Moominmama not taking no for an answer when he had caught cold two years ago and tucking him into bed with a bowl of soup and a hot water bottle. And he realised that the Hemulen woman had been wrong about him. They had all been. He had a family and they loved him just the way he was. 

So he had turned his back on that unknown valley, and that unknown town. And leaving all his anger and sadness and disappointment behind him, he had set his course back to his real family. If his mother and father hadn’t wanted him the way he was, then he didn’t want them either.

Pulling his harmonica from his pocket, Snufkin smiled. Maybe it was familiarity that had made the journey home faster, or maybe it was the lightness he had felt on leaving his anger behind. Whatever it was, he was back and ready to move on from the hurt of the Summer. Putting the instrument to his lips, he blew the first notes of his new Spring tune, willing them to carry across the valley to his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am weak for baby Snufkin being just as stubborn and willful as almost-adult Snufkin.   
> I hope you enjoyed his long walk and his many thoughts. At long last we have all of our principle players in Moominvalley.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joxter meets his son. Snufkin meets his father. It's all a bit much for everyone.

Moomin woke to Moominmama’s gentle shaking. Rubbing his eyes, he greeted her with a smile as he sat up slowly.

“Good morning Mama, did I sleep too long?”

“Not at all, Moomin, but I have some good news and I knew you would want it right away.” Moominmama smiled and walked across the room to open the window. “Listen,” she said, turning her head to look out over the valley. 

Moomin listened carefully. Then he heard it. The faint sound of a harmonica. With a sudden burst of energy, he sprung up out of his bed and ran to the window.

“Snufkin! He’s back! Oh Mama, he’s early! Goodness, I have to hurry.”

Dashing to his sink to give his face a quick wash and attempt to remedy his terrible bed-hair, Moomin pecked his mother on the cheek before clambering out of his window and down the rope ladder. He jumped the last few steps and turned to see a little green figure emerging from the tree-line. With a squeal of delight he set off at a run.

Snufkin smiled, stowing his harmonica in his pocket as he spotted the familiar white shape clambering down the side of the Moominhouse. Picking up his feet a little, he set off at a gentle trot, his pack bouncing on his back. He was halfway down the slope when he surrendered to the giddy joy of reunion and, dropping his bag behind him, started running.    
  
Moomin was already across the bridge and so focussed was Snufkin on his friend that he didn’t hear the third set of feet until it was too late.    
  
A look of alarm crossed Moomin’s face a split second before something heavy barrelled into Snufkin, knocking him off his feet and sending him tumbling down the hill in a confusion of limbs and hats and tails.    
  
Coming at last to a stop, he groaned as his brain rattled around his skull. Opening his eyes he frowned as six blue eyes swam haphazardly across his vision. At length they coalesced into a single pair and Snufkin found himself almost nose to nose with the man above him.

Blue eyes were set in a round face. The mans’ hair was black and slightly curly, continuing down the sides of his face to a whiskery sort of beard. His mouth was stretched as wide as it could go, split open in the biggest grin and Snufkin could see his pointed teeth quite clearly. He smelled of pine and sweat and tobacco and, strangely, of the Moominhouse. All this Snufkin noted in the brief moment before he felt a pair of hands come up under his arms and before he could utter so much as a word of protest, he was being lifted up off the ground. 

It was hard to quantify what happened next.    
  
Snufkin was vaguely aware that his feet were dangling about a foot off the ground, his entire body suspended by the grip under his armpits in what must be an incredibly undignified way. He was also aware that Moomin was nearby, a white cloud hovering nervously to his right, waiting for his friend to greet him. But he was completely incapable of acting on any of this information. His entire body had gone limp, held up by the man’s strong arms and completely at the mercy of his captor.    
  
Somewhere in the distant recesses of his mind, he could hear his own voice, shouting at himself to get a grip! To demand to be put down. But in the more immediate, childlike place of his mind, all he felt was relaxed and at ease and he was powerless to do anything about it. With dawning horror, he realised he was purring.

Slowly, with monumental difficulty, Snufkin forced his mind to pull itself back together. As his vision cleared from its foggy haze, he could see that Moomin was in fact hopping from foot to foot in a mixture of agitation and amusement. Focussing on the man holding him up, Snufkin realised the man was purring too, the loud rumbles of his chest vibrating up through his arms so as to nearly be ticklish.    
  
Closing his eyes against that blinding grin, Snufkin gritted his teeth and managed to stop the purring. It took another concerted effort before, in a small but annoyed voice, he finally managed to speak.

“Put. Me. Down. Please.”

With an immense surge of relief, he felt himself being lowered and his as soon as his feet touched the ground the fog lifted, allowing him to wrench himself free of the strangers grip.

“I’d thank you not to manhandle me like that, sir,” he said crisply, brushing his coat and pulling it straight. He looked up, about to deliver a few more choice words on the man’s unconscionable disregard for the personal space and safety of others when his brain finally registered all of what he was seeing and stuttered to a halt.

It had been hard to comprehend up close, with the man’s colouring so different to his own, but now Snufkin could see him in his entirety it was like looking in yet another distorted mirror.    
  
The man had the same pointy nose, the same round face, the same tufted tail as Snufkin. Even his clothes were similar, the green of his coat almost identical, and Snufkin recognised the scuffed shoes and worn patches of a consummate traveller.    
  
Together with the man’s broad grin, and Moomin’s continued agitation, a terrible realisation began to dawn on Snufkin. 

“Who… who are you?” he asked, taking a step back from the man who was still nearly vibrating with apparent glee. The man laughed.

“Don’t you recognise me?” he said, taking a step forward. “You’re a chip off the old block. Look at you, just as handsome as your dashing papa. Little Moomin wasn’t joking.” Behind him Moomin blanched before turning bright pink.

“My… papa,” Snufkin repeated quietly. There was a hiss in his ears and it was getting louder and louder, drowning out the man’s words. “My.. oh no, no no no,” he muttered. He saw the man frown, his mouth turning down as he stopped talking.   
  


“Snufkin, are you ok?” Joxter asked, taking a step towards his son in concern as the boy turned pale in front of him.   
  
It was the wrong move. Quicker than any Mymble child was capable of, Snufkin turned and ran.    
  
For a moment Joxter could only watch in shock as his boy sped away from him, his little legs carrying him back up the hill towards the trees. Beside him Moomin called out after his friend and the noise shocked Joxter back to his senses. Putting his head down, he sprinted up the hill after his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope none of you were expecting this to go well...  
> If you were... might want to buckle in for the next few chapters.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joxter thinks he knows how to talk to children. Joxter is wrong.

Halfway up the hill, Joxter had to stop to catch his breath. He watched, desolate, as Snufkin disappeared into the trees ahead.

He had been almost five miles from the Moominhouse when he had had a Foreboding unlike any other. He knew, in his bones, that Snufkin was coming and had turned on his heels and run all the way back, arriving just in time to hear the last notes of Snufkin’s song as his son stowed his harmonica away and started to trot down the hill.    
  
Seeing his son, finally, after months of waiting, had filled him with such energy that he hadn’t really thought about what happened next. His only goal had been to reach Snufkin as fast as possible.

In retrospect, he realized that maybe he should have handled the situation a little more carefully. Pushing himself back upright, he set off towards the woods at a much more sedate pace, his tail dragging sadly behind him.

“Mr. Joxter, sir, wait!”

Joxter turned as Moomin puffed his way up the hill after him. His feet itched to get after Snufkin as fast as possible, but he stayed them, giving the troll time to catch up and catch his breath a little.

“Please,” he panted, “Don’t follow Snufkin. He’ll come out when he’s ready, but he won’t want you to follow him.”

Joxter frowned.

“Don’t be silly, Moomin. He’s just upset, that’s all. I’ll find him and apologize. It’ll be fine. I can’t just leave him all alone like that.”

Moomin shook his head, pleading that Joxter leave Snufkin to himself, but Joxter waved him off.

“No child wants to be alone when they’re sad or scared, little troll. And if they tell you they do it’s only because they want you to prove them wrong. Trust me on that one.” And with that he started back up the hill.

He reached the trees before long and stopped for a second, sniffing the air and scanning the ground for signs of Snufkin. The cold ground was hard and Snufkin was light, so tracks were unforthcoming, but Joxter caught the smell of sweat and tobacco and followed his nose into the woods. Under the canopy he could hear the birds twittering angrily overhead. Turning to follow the consternation, he spotted some broken twigs along the track.    
  
Eventually he reached the base of a tree. Scanning the trunk, he spotted the regular puncture marks leading up into the canopy and smiled. Unsheathing his own claws, he started to climb, digging into the soft bark over the marks left by his little son.    
  
Above him, he heard harsh breathing and a muffled sob that made his heart clench in his chest but he kept climbing. Looking up, he spotted a green hem and a little bit of brown hair a few branches above him. He was so close…

The noise stopped. Hand outstretched for the next branch, Joxter froze as a silence descended on the tree. The chattering birds were quiet and above him Snufkin’s hiccups had stopped.

“What do you think you are doing?”

Snufkin’s voice was calm, no trace of his upset apparent in the cool words. Joxter gulped, steadying himself on his branch before answering:

“I wanted to say sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you before.”

“Well, you’ve said it,” Snufkin answered, not even looking over the side of his branch. “Feel free to leave now.”

The Joxter winced, but was undeterred.

“Now is that any way to talk to your papa?” he asked, reaching up again for the next branch.

“I wouldn’t know,” said Snufkin. Joxter froze again, hand still just short of the branch.    
  
Leaning back a little he managed to catch a glimpse of Snufkin’s face. So like his own in features but the expression on them was alien to him. The familiar eyes were a little red, set in a look of quiet anger as he stared out through the leaves towards the valley. His jaw was tense. Joxter could see his tail overhanging the branch, the tip bristling.    
  
He remembered the little Moomin’s warning and felt a tickle of doubt at his own assertion. Disregarding it, he pushed himself upwards, gaining the next branch.

“Leave me alone, I won’t tell you again.”

Joxter shook his head.

“I can’t do that, kit. I’ve been waiting all Winter to meet you. Please come down, I just want to talk.”

A shrill whistle was all the warning he got before something small and feathery hit him in the side of the head. Gripping the branch firmly with one hand, he raised the other to swat the thing away, but he was attacked from the other side. All around him the flutter of wings filled the air as the birds took off from the branches, dive bombing the Joxter’s head and forcing him to retreat steadily down the tree.    
  
As he got lower the missiles became harder and he realized a small battalion of squirrels had set up on a branch to hail down acorns on him. Yelping as one hit him on the ear, his foot slipped and he tumbled backwards, smacking a branch or two before landing in a heap on the frozen ground.    
  
With a groan he pushed himself up only to leap to his feet with a shout, his hands rubbing furiously at his shin. The little hedgehog who had pricked him stood proudly at his feet.

All around him, he saw woodland creatures advancing with what could only be described as menace. Turning his face pleadingly up the trunk, he briefly caught sight of his son’s face peering down at him with a strange look before it vanished back behind the branch and a volley of pinecones forced him to vacate the area.

Besieged and bedraggled, he emerged at length from the woods and was met by Moomin, holding Snufkin’s bag and a picnic basket with a red and white checkered cloth over it.

“I told you not to follow him,” Moomin chided as he put the picnic basket down on the ground and folded his arms crossly. “It’ll take an age to get him out of the woods now.”

“I don’t understand,” Joxter said, rubbing his bruised face and head. “How on earth did he even do that? The birds, the squirrels, what just happened?”

Moomin sighed, unfolding his arms and patting Joxter gently on the shoulder.

“The animals in the valley love Snufkin. He’s so kind to them and he always listens to them and helps them out when they need it. I’d say they weren’t too happy to see him upset. You should probably stay out of the woods for a little while.”

Bending over, Moomin slung the knapsack up onto his own back and picked up the picnic basket.

“Where are you going with those?” Joxter asked as Moomin stepped towards the trees.

“Snufkin may not want to come out of the woods for a while, but he’ll be hungry and he still needs somewhere to sleep. I’ll leave these where he can find them so at least I know he’ll be comfortable. I was hoping we could have a welcome home meal for him, but I suppose that will have to wait for a while.”

This was followed by a sharp glance at Joxter and he felt his shoulders droop a little.

“I suppose I should leave you to it then,” he said, looking longingly at the woods.

Moomin relented, unable to feel too cross at the Joxter. He knew what it was like to get overexcited about seeing Snufkin after all. With a comforting look, he nodded his head back towards the house.

“Mama will have tea ready soon. Maybe a hot drink would be good for you.”

And with that he turned and walked into the woods, the animals parting to let him through with ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Joxter so much. He is trying so hard. But Snufkin is not a Mymble child. Joxter is just so out of his depth here.  
> Thank you to everyone for all your lovely comments. I'm glad you're all enjoying yourselves and I hope you enjoyed this moderate angst-respite, featuring Snufkin as the newest Disney princess.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moonlit interlude.

It was late. But though he was still a little tired from the long Winter, Moomin couldn’t sleep.

The Joxter had politely declined their spare room, opting instead for the apple tree in the orchard. Moominpapa seemed to think was a normal enough response and had left him to make his peculiar nest in the branches. Moomin had remained to watch as the Joxter climbed swiftly up the tree and made himself quite comfortable, padding the trunk with his own knapsack and throwing a blanket over himself so that the hems hung down from the bough like bunting.    
  
Turning his gaze from the apple tree up to the Western Woods, Moomin let out a sad sigh, hoping Snufkin was as comfortable as his father seemed to be. He knew Snufkin would have found his pack and the basket of food by now, and probably pitched his tent rather than sleep up in a tree.

But now, lying in his own soft bed, Moomin couldn’t find peace. He worried that Snufkin might be cold, having come back a full week earlier than expected and with the late frost still clinging to the ground. He also couldn’t be quite sure, but he felt like Snufkin had looked thinner than usual, in the brief moment he had seen him before the Joxter had come barreling out of nowhere and turned their reunion on its head.

And now who knew how long he would have to wait before Snufkin would venture out of the woods. Would he even come out at all, if Joxter was still in the valley? Rolling onto his side, Moomin stared out the window at the clear, starry sky and wondered if Snufkin was awake as well, maybe even thinking of Moomin.

A sharp rap at the window startled him from his thoughts. Another followed quickly, the sharp tap of a small rock hitting the window pane, and Moomin was at the window in seconds, throwing it open despite the cold night air. He leaned over the casement, the moon lighting up his white fur and his beaming smile as he spotted that familiar cone-shaped shadow below.

Wordlessly, so as not to wake any parents, he swung his legs over the window frame and climbed quickly down his rope ladder. He spun round as soon as his paws touched the ground and the two simply stood there, a foot apart and smiling at each other, drinking in the sight of their friend after a long and difficult season apart. Then, putting his finger to his lips for silence, Snufkin signaled for Moomin to follow him as he turned and walked into the night.

Neither spoke as they crept through the moonlight. Only the rustle of the grass and the dark trail in the dew gave them away. Walking behind his friend, Moomin was dismayed to see he had been right after all. Snufkin was thinner than he had been. His green coat, always long on him, was now also quite loose around his shoulders. The cuffs were no longer snug around his wrists.    
  
But Snufkin moved with a speed and assuredness that spoke of good health. Moomin could see his legs were stronger than they had been. So he must have worked it off at least, rather than been ill. Moomin relaxed a little. That at least he could live with, though he would be sure to ask Mama to make her honey cakes more often this year. They were Snufkin’s favourite and he would never turn them down.

At length they reached their destination. A little outcrop of rocks, easily scalable and with a flat top that had a good view of the valley to the North and the sea to the South. With nimble footwork Snufkin was up the rocks in a heartbeat. Moomin scrambled up after him, taking Snufkin’s hand gratefully when he was nearly at the top and letting himself be pulled up the last bit.    
  
Pulling his pipe from his pocket, Snufkin sat facing the sea. Moomin hesitated a moment, but when Snufkin patted the rock beside him he sat down quickly, smiling at the warmth he could feel radiating off his friend.

They sat silently, Snufkin filling and tamping down his pipe while Moomin drank in the sight of his friend bathed in moonlight. Satisfied at last with his efforts, Snufkin struck a match, the yellow flame lighting up his face and bringing a brief flood of colour to his eyes and cheeks, before they subsided into the silvers and greys of nighttime.    
  
Pulling on the pipe, Snufkin smiled, blowing smoke rings into the night. Moomin laughed quietly as Snufkin blew the little smoke circles one after another, each one slotting into its older sibling to form an ethereal bullseye before dissipating into nothingness.

Something warm and soft tickled his tail and Moomin started. He glanced behind him, expecting to see a mouse running away across the rocks. Instead he saw the tip of Snufkin’s tail flicking away from his own. Snufkin’s face was hidden under the brim of his hat so that only the tip of his nose illuminated by the glowing bowl of his pipe, but that nose had a distinctly pinkish tinge to it.

Turning as casually as he could, Moomin gazed out towards the sea, admiring the glittering reflection of the moon on the water. He forced himself to be still and patient, even while his stomach felt as though it was trying to tie itself in knots.

Then he felt it again. The gentle brush of fur. Carefully, he curled his own tail up just a little and was rewarded when he felt Snufkin’s tail curl around his own.    
  
Beside him Snufkin was still as a stone. The only sound was the gentle puffing of the smoke from his pipe. Moomin sighed happily and let his own tail fall back to the stone floor, loosely wrapped around Snufkins. Beside him, he felt his friend stiffen and then, finally, relax.    
  
They sat and watched the moon make her way across the sky, their eyes full of stars and their tails intertwined on the rock behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After I wrote this my Beta sent me a tweet. It read:  
> Bro, no bullshit, you look straight up enchanting in the moonlight tonight.   
> I felt it was fitting.   
> Snufkin got his reunion. A little quieter than planned, but he was damned if his dad was going to mess this one up for him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snufkin has trust issues and Joxter just wants to dad so badly.

When Snufkin awoke, it was bright out. He stretched slowly, stiff from sleeping on the still hard ground but otherwise quite well rested considering he hadn’t made it to bed till the moon was nearly setting and the first hint of dawn was on the horizon. Smiling to himself, he rolled out of bed and pulled open the flap of his tent.

“Morning son, I-”

Snufkin closed the flap with a snap, cutting off the rest of the sentence.    
  
Dragging his hands down his face, he groaned inwardly. There was no way around it.There was only one way out of his tent and the Joxter knew he was awake now. Through his own internal screaming, Snufkin could hear the Joxter’s voice rambling on outside. With a sigh, he dropped his hands and slowly pulled the tent open again.

“- didn’t get off on the right foot yesterday. I’m sure you were tired from your journey and -”

“What do you want?” Snufkin said, cutting Joxters speech short. Joxter looked a bit ruffled, but he recovered quickly, giving Snufkin a winning smile as he opened his arms wide.

“To meet my son, of course. Come and give your papa a big hug.”

“We’ve met, and no thank you. Goodbye.”

Without another word, Snufkin turned and set off towards the treeline with the vague hope that Moominmama might let him have some honey cakes for his breakfast. Usually, he would make food on his fire, but that wasn’t an option this morning it would seem. 

A twig snapped behind him and Snufkin felt a nerve twitch over his eyebrow as the Joxter came up beside him.

“Hold up. We need to talk.”

“We really don’t.”

“At least hear me out, kit. I’ve waited all Winter to see you, surely you owe me that much at least?”

Snufkin stopped, rounding on Joxter with such speed that the elder took a step back in surprise.

“I didn’t ask you to come here. You can’t exact prices on other people for your own decisions.”

Joxter held his hands up.

“Alright, wrong choice of words. But please, I’ve been waiting months. I just want to talk. Get to know my son. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“You never cared to before,” Snufkin shot back. Joxter shook his head frantically.

“No, that’s not true. Snufkin, if I’d known about you I never would have left you all alone all these years. Please believe me.”

Snufkin frowned.

“If you’d known?” he asked, confused. Joxter nodded.

“I only found out you existed this Summer. Moominpapa sent me a letter telling me about you. I came as soon as I got it, but I must have missed you.”

“You said you waited all Winter...”

Snufkin trailed off. Joxter smiled a stiff smile, nodding as he saw the dawning comprehension in Snufkins’ eyes.

“Got snowed in, didn’t I?” he said ruefully. “Your little Moomintroll was good enough to keep me company for some of it, but I can’t say it’s been a fun Winter. It was worth it though to get to meet you.”

Snufkin shuddered at the thought of being stuck indoors for a whole season. Even if it was Moominhouse Snufkin knew he’d go crazy looking at the same four walls for that long. Then the rest of Joxter’s words caught up with him.

“How can you not have known I existed? You live with the Mymble, don’t you? My mother? Kind of a hard thing to miss.”

Now Joxter looked uncomfortable. He rubbed his neck, avoiding Snufkins’ eye.

“Well, you see, I wasn’t exactly there when you were born. I was travelling. Mymble hadn’t told me she was pregnant and by the time I got back, you had been born and gotten lost already.”

“And the Mymble just forgot to tell you, is that it?” Snufkin asked sourly. To his surprise, the Joxter nodded.

“She thought she had told me, but she’s a bit forgetful and she does tend to get in an awful muddle. There are a lot of children to keep track of and it’s all a bit hectic. We think that’s how you got lost in the first place. She has a terrible habit of putting things down and forgetting them and you were a wanderer as soon as you could walk apparently. ”

_ Abandoned. _

A hissing noise had been growing steadily in Snufkin’s ears as the conversation had progressed. He almost didn’t want to ask the questions but a dreadful curiosity drove him on.

“So my mother lost me? And then she just… forgot about me.”

_ Unwanted. _

“She didn’t mean to, it’s just the way she is,” Joxter said. Snufkin could hear the mixture of fondness and exasperation in his voice and it turned his stomach. There was no anger there, only love. His mother had abandoned him, forgotten him and left him behind, and his father thought this was some kind of endearing mistake.

_ Unloved. _

The noise was deafening now. It was the same as last year. Snufkin could feel a tingling in his fingers and toes and he curled them into himself to ease it. He could see the Joxter’s mouth moving, his eyebrows drawing together in concern, but the words were lost in the rush.

His legs ached from weeks of walking with no break. His back was sore from the hard ground. He wanted Moomintroll and his quiet, warm presence by his side. He wanted to be in the valley, with his friends, fishing and enjoying the sunshine. He wanted to rest. To feel the safety of Moominvalley envelop him like a blanket and sooth him. But most of all, he wanted this man to go away and take his awful revelations with him.

Not only had he not been wanted, but he had been entirely erased. Forgotten. Usurped by a battalion of louder brothers and sisters. And now there was this man who seemed to think that the simple act of procreating somehow gave him a claim to Snufkin’s person. The unfairness of it made Snufkin curl deeper and deeper into himself, trying almost to create a physical space between himself and the outer shell of his body. 

He felt the movement more than he saw it and he knew what was about to happen. As the hands slid under his arms, a small part of him cried out to embrace the feeling of warmth and security he had felt yesterday while being held. But a larger, much more Snufkin part of him, said no.    
  
The Mymble at least had acted to her nature and was not here to demand that he forgive her for it. But Joxter had proven he could not be trusted. He loved the Mymble, but he had left her for what must have been years. Long enough to have and misplace a child.  He took up so much space, made so much noise. It made Snufkin’s head hurt just thinking about spending time with him. And now he was about to demand submission as well. That Snufkin be a good child and allow himself to be picked up and played with as though he were some kind of toy. 

Well, Snufkin wasn’t a child and if the Joxter thought that mere biology entitled him to anything he had another thing coming. He felt the upward pressure and as he began to lift up off the ground he unsheathed his claws and swung his arm in a wide arc. 

His feet hit the ground and he staggered back. Scarlet droplets stained his claws and he looked at them with a detached curiosity. Joxter stood in front of him, a hand clasped to his face in shock. Snufkin could see the blood welling up under his fingers, a drop sliding slowly down his chin to soak into his beard. Snufkin watched it make its slow progress and his body trembled, with guilt or fear he couldn't tell.    
  
Joxter peeled his hand away, looking at the blood with wide eyes. The scratches were thin, but deep. Noticing Snufkins panic he took a step forward, reaching out with the bloodied hand. Snufkin stepped back hastily, recoiling in horror.

“It’s alright, Snufkin. Just breathe. It’s ok. Just a scratch,” Joxter said calmly, smiling though his cheek must have been on fire. Snufkin just shook his head, stepping backwards, trying to get away from the injury he’d caused.

“Just calm down, son.”

“You shouldn’t have come here. You should have just left me alone.”

“No. I shouldn’t have. And I won’t. Not ever again.”

The words came down around him like iron bars. A cage of promise. Snufkin felt his chest constrict as it settled around him, squeezing him, molding him. With a howl, of fear or anger it was anyone’s guess, Snufkin ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. Joxter just wants to be the best catdad he can be. It's not his fault Snufkin is a literal ball of feral neuroses.  
> Well.... it is a little, but not intentionally.  
> Many thanks again to you all, and to my Beta who screamed at me for doing this, but also encouraged it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snufkin and Joxter... talk?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appear to have posted chapter 11 twice. Sorry about that. I've corrected it now.

Branches whipped Snufkin’s face as he ran through the woods. He didn’t know where he was going. He just knew that he had to get away. Away from the Joxter and his words. His promises that sounded like threats. His bleeding face, taunting Snufkin with his own loss of control.    
  
Slamming his shoulder off a tree he spun around, catching a glimpse of red through the trees behind him. He cursed and kept going, cradling his shoulder with his good arm. His legs were burning. His lungs were burning. Staggering to a halt, he leaned heavily on a tree, wheezing as his body tried to suck in more oxygen. He closed his eyes as the pursuing footsteps came to a halt nearby.

“Please, just leave me alone.”

His voice sounded pitiful even to himself, but there was no helping it now. 

“Snufkin...”

Joxter trailed off. He was a little out of breath but nothing like his son. The boy was bent nearly double, gasping for air like a drowning man. Joxter desperately wanted to go to him. To comfort him and make it all ok, but the eye-watering sting in his cheek told him that wouldn’t be a good move. 

“I can’t just leave you,” he said, forcing himself to stay put. “Especially not like this. You’re my son and I love you. I just want to help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Snufkin had caught his breath and was glaring at Joxter through narrowed eyes.

“I don’t need your help,” he repeated, steadier and stronger now. “And I don’t want it either. I don’t want you or your family or your love.”

Joxter felt like he’d been punched. Snufkin faced him now, the confusion and fear from earlier replaced with bristling anger. Joxter would have laughed at the little rumble of a growl if it wasn’t for his blood still clinging to Snufkin’s claws. 

“Son-”

“Stop calling me that!”

Joxters jaw clicked shut. Snufkin was panting, his chest heaving and his tail lashing behind him in agitation. Joxter’s silence was like a signal, the gun at the starting blocks. Snufkin felt all the hurt, all the anger he’d buried on his long Winter walk, well up inside him, spilling over in a bitter, seething torrent.

“You think you can just waltz into my life after eighteen years, tell me you’re my father, and we’ll just be friends? I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you except that you seem to have no concept of personal boundaries or biological consequences and that is enough for me to know that I don’t want to know you. You think you’re a hero for coming to meet me, but tell me, who’s helping Mymble now with all those children? And before, when you left her to go travelling? Is that how you treat your loved ones? Hang around for the fun and then leave them with the hard work? And your long Winter? You travelled with Moominpapa for long enough. Surely, you knew they would be hibernating for the Winter. But you came anyway, and kept Moomintroll awake for half the season so you wouldn’t be bored. How could you be so selfish? He must be absolutely exhausted.”

Snufkin started pacing, unable to keep his energy contained as he spoke. 

“And love? Don’t make me laugh. You don’t know me. How can you possibly love me? Love doesn’t cage people. It doesn’t chase them up trees and demand their attention. It doesn’t ignore the other person when they are telling you to go away. To leave them alone. Love is letting someone go, not clinging to them so they suffocate. So no, you don’t love me. You just love the idea that there’s another you. Well, I’m not you. I’m nothing like you. I am me, and I got there by myself. I don’t need you. So for the last time, leave me alone.” 

Joxter looked heartbroken. Like a balloon with a puncture he was collapsing in on himself slowly as Snufkin’s words punched the air from him. He looked at the anger in Snufkin’s face and wondered how it had all gone so wrong. 

“Alright so- Snufkin. I’ll leave. I’m sorry. So sorry. For everything.”

Joxter trailed off with a sigh. Meeting Snufkin’s cold stare, he nodded sadly and turned away. He didn’t look back, not once, even when he heard the first hitching sob. He didn’t think he could bear it.

He was a sorry sight as he trudged up the steps of the Moominhouse. The little Moomin gasped and ran inside, calling for his mother and the first aid kit before running out of the house and towards the woods. Joxter watched him go until he felt a gentle tug at his elbow and allowed himself to be lead inside. He sat through her ministrations quietly, letting her clean the scratches and cover them with a bandage. When she was done, he clasped her paw firmly and tried to smile despite the pain in his cheek and the ache in his heart.

“Thank you for your wonderful hospitality, my dear Moominmama. I won’t impose on you any longer. I’ve been away from Mymble for a long time, I should head home. When he gets back please tell your son I’m sorry for keeping him awake this Winter.”

He stood slowly. Moominmama stood with him.

“Surely you could stay one more night?” she asked. “The sun is already high. You’ll be caught in the mountains for nightfall if you leave now, and it’s still very cold.”

Joxter considered it and nodded. 

“If you don’t mind?” he asked.

“Of course we don’t,” Moominmama replied instantly. “You are always welcome here, for as long as you like.”

“Thank you,” Joxter said, making his way out the door to his tree. Moominmama watched him go sadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He just wanted to dad so bad. Now he's a sad dad.  
> Poor little Snufkin. This is what happens when you bottle all that stuff up. It had to come out eventually.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moomin goes to find Snufkin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't notice, I accidentally posted chapter 11 twice. I have fixed that. Make sure you read the correct chapter 12 before you start this one :)

Moomin stood at the edge of the woods and fretted. His tail was a mess from being twisted and wrung. 

There was no guarantee he would find Snufkin if he went in. He wasn’t exactly stealthy and Snufkin could hide very well when he wanted to. But he also couldn’t bear standing here, not knowing how his friend was. Dropping his tail and squaring his shoulders, he told himself to be brave and took a step forward into the woods.

“Snufkin,” he called as he picked his way through the trees. “Snufkin, it’s me. Moomintroll. Are you ok?”

The woods were quiet. The birds chattered in hushed tones and Moomin felt as though the trees themselves were listening for an answer. Up ahead, he saw the little clearing he and Snufkin had found last year and he spotted Snufkin’s tent and a little fire pit. It made him unaccountably sad to see Snufkin’s tent here in the woods. It was all wrong and he looked away hastily. Walking around the tent, he spotted a path of sorts. Broken branches and scattered leaves showed him the way and it wasn’t long till he found his friend.

Snufkin was sat on the floor, arms around his legs and his chin resting on his knees. Moomin knelt in front of him, but Snufkin didn’t blink. He didn't even seem to see him, lost in his own thoughts.

“Snufkin, I’m so glad I found you,” said Moomin. “Are you hurt?”

“He didn’t know.”

Moomin frowned. 

“Who didn’t know what?” he asked. Snufkin blinked, looking up at Moomin with sad eyes.

“My father. He didn’t know about me. My mother, the Mymble, she just… forgot to tell him. They didn’t leave me on purpose. Mother put me down and forgot to pick me back up again and I wandered off. In a way I suppose I left them.” Snufkin looked at his hands sadly. Moomin followed his gaze and saw the dried blood, crusting on Snufkin’s little claws.

“I hurt him,” Snufkin said distantly. “I didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t listen. And now I’ve hurt him and he’ll leave and this time it will be all my fault.”

Moomin scooted around, sitting as close to Snufkin as he dared.

“What did he say to you?” he asked.

“He said he loved me,” Snufkin replied with a hollow laugh. “How could he? He doesn’t even know me.”

“Oh but he does,” Moomin said. Snufkin turned and looked at him incredulously, but he carried on.

“He does know you, Snufkin. Or, at least, he knows a lot about you. He gave me such a fright when I woke up. I thought there was a burglar or a ghost in the house. And then when I went downstairs I thought you had come back for some reason. But it was him. He had been in the house half the Winter, eating potatoes and fish and nothing else.”

Snufkin shifted, listening intently to Moomins story.

“He didn’t want to wake us, he said, and he didn’t know what he would be allowed to eat. Snufkin, you should have seen him. I made him some toast and he looked like I was giving him cake and lemonade. He was so very bored so I stayed up with him and we told each other stories. He told me about his adventures with Papa and I told him about our adventures and about you. He wanted to know everything, absolutely everything.”

Snufkin slumped.

“I said such awful things to him, Moomin. I always tell people they shouldn’t go against their natures and then I got angry at him because he went with his own. What a terrible hypocrite I am. He’ll leave again and this time I have only myself to blame. How do you do it?” he asked, turning to Moomin. “You make it look so easy. Having parents and family and a home. How can you bear it?”    
  
Moomin laughed.

“Well, it’s not always easy. Of course I love Mama and Papa, but parents can be quite silly sometimes. They have funny ideas and want to tell you what to do, and what you should say and when you should go to bed. But they always mean well. I imagine Mr. Joxter meant well, but it sounds like the Mymbles other children are a very different sort so I guess he just didn’t know what to do. But he tried, and Mama says that trying is what counts in the end. Even parents don’t get it right all the time.”

Snufkin nodded sadly, looking down at his hands. His eyes were drooping and Moomin shifted round, leaning against the tree and giving Snufkin the option of closeness if he wanted it.

There was a warm pressure along his side and Moomin revelled in the feeling of Snufkin leaning into him. He yawned wide, the long Winter and late night catching up to him a little. Beside him Snufkin gave a little snore and Moomin smiled, curling his tail around Snufkin’s back to steady him, before closing his eyes and letting himself slip into a light doze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snufkin may have seen more of the world, but there are some gaps in his knowledge that Moomin is more than happy to fill in. I love these boys so much. I know the last few chapters have been a bit of a bumpy ride, but these soft boys are always soft.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joxter leaves Moominvalley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly there guys. Thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos on this fic. It's been such a wonderful entry to the fandom. You are all wonderful and I love you all.

Joxter tried to pack his bag slowly, but he only had a handful of things in it so even taking his time it only took him five minutes. 

He took the parcel of honeycakes from Moominmama with a smile, and clapped Moominpapa on the back.

“Are you sure you won’t stay a little longer,” Moominpapa asked. “We have a wonderful party at Mid-Summer, with music and dancing. I know you’d enjoy it.”

Joxter smiled.

“Maybe I’ll come back for it,” he said and they both pretended not to hear the lie. 

Slinging his pack up onto his shoulders, he tipped his hat to the Moomins and walked down the steps. He cast about for Moomin, but the young troll was nowhere to be seen. Joxter shrugged and set off down the path.

He was across the bridge when a call made him stop. Moomin was trotting down the hill, waving to catch his attention.

“Thank goodness,” he said as he reached Joxter. “I thought I’d missed you.”

Joxter smiled.

“I’m glad you didn’t. I wanted to say thank you.”

“Whatever for?” Moomin asked curiously. 

“For looking after Snufkin for me. I’m glad to know he has someone like you to rely on. I guess he doesn’t need this old cat when he has a Moomin like you.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Moomin replied, turning pink. Joxter laughed, ruffling his hair before walking past him.

“Oh, Mr. Joxter.”

Joxter looked back quizzically. 

“If you were looking for the best view on your way out of the valley, I’d take the left hand fork up ahead.”

Joxter frowned, but nodded. Moomin smiled at him, waving once more before trotting away down the path to his house. Joxter turned back and continued up the path. He reached the fork and shrugged his shoulders before taking the left hand path. Turning a corner, he stopped short.

Up ahead, stood Snufkin. They stared at each other for a few minutes before Snufkin rolled his eyes and started walking up the path. Joxter hurried forwards, catching up to him.

They walked in silence. Joxter tried to keep his eyes on the path, but he snuck glances down at his son as often as he thought he could get away with it. Once or twice, he caught Snufkin looking away hurriedly.

The sun was high in the sky when they reached the top of the mountain. Each side was half a days walk and they stopped, turning to look back at Moominvalley and drink in the view. Spotting a flat rock, Snufkin walked over and sat down.

Joxter hesitated a moment before sitting down next to him leaving a good space between them.

“I’m sorry about your face.”

They were the first words spoken between them. Joxter hesitated, quashing his first instinct to laugh the comment off with a joke. 

“I’m sorry for not listening,” he said at length.

The silence stretched between them. Overhead a bird sang. Snufkin smiled, watching it dive and swoop merrily in the sky. Joxter watched Snufkin, entranced, hardly daring to breath lest that smile vanish again.

“There’s a village to the south of here-”

Joxter started, but Snufkin spoke on.

“They celebrate mid-Winter with a light festival. They light hundreds of candles and walk through the town, singing.”

“Saor. I know it. I’ve been there before.”

“I go there most Winters. I didn’t last year, but I’ll be there this Winter. Just for the festival.”

Joxter beamed. Snufkin nodded when he saw that Joxter understood and turned back to the valley.

“Well,” said Joxter, “I guess I’d better be off. It’s a long walk home and the day isn’t going to hang around for me.”

He reached out to pat Snufkin on the head but stopped himself, pulling his hand back to his side self-consciously. Snufkin stood with him. He didn’t offer a hand, or a hug, but he was smiling and for Joxter that was enough for now.    
  
Smiling back warmly, he turned and set off down the mountain. Reaching a bend in the path, he stopped and looked behind. Snufkin was still at the top, watching him go. A weight in the Joxter’s heart lifted a little and he waved back at his son before walking on and vanishing around the bend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at those stupid catpeople, bonding and stuff. Brings a tear to my eye.  
> I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my Beta again, for not only commenting on this as I wrote it, but also as I have been posting it. I'm getting all your comments in stereo and it's hilarious.  
> There will be a little epilogue tomorrow ;)


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joxter and Snufkin meet in Saor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, but necessary.

The streets blazed with light. Hundreds of candles shone with their own little light, coming together to create a flickering daylight. Hundreds of voices rose together in song and Joxter heart rose with them. 

Someone stepped up beside him. Joxter caught a hint of woodsmoke and tobacco. He felt a gentle tug at his sleeve and a small hand slipped into his own. It was warm and soft, claws hidden from sight this time. Joxter beamed, keeping his eyes forward so as not to startle Snufkin as he gripped the little hand firmly. It gripped back, strong and sure.

Together they watched the procession until the last candle had flickered out and only the light of the stars remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. I hope you all enjoyed it. Thank you again for all your comments. I post before bed, and they're such a lovely thing to wake up to :)  
> There might also be a follow up story, as I have heard through the grape vine that some people just want me to let Joxter dad. He deserves it. I will try and make it happen.


End file.
